


Speak of Cloudy Summer Skies

by Voidflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotionally Repressed Dean, Feelings, Gen, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Thunderstorms, cas utilizes humor, this was written at 2AM during a thunderstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidflower/pseuds/Voidflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's storming in Kansas. Badly.</p>
<p>This would be significantly more of a problem if Sam, Dean, and Cas were not literally in an underground bunker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak of Cloudy Summer Skies

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to take place... um... *sweats nervously* sometime in S9? I mostly just wanted to write about Dean and Cas existing in proximity during a thunderstorm and doing Dean and Cas things.

Storm sirens roll mournfully across the Kansas plains, the sky a mass of dark, angry green. A tinny voice on the automated alert system warns listeners (and those currently, but certainly not permanently) asleep of "winds in excess of 60 miles per hour" and, minutes later, that "tornadoes have been sighted in the area; seek shelter immediately".

This would be significantly more of a problem if Sam, Dean, and Cas were not literally in an underground bunker. Sam sleeps right through the storm, happily oblivious. Dean knows this; he'd checked.

His second thought upon seeing Sam sprawled out and snoring is "Guess he's over the whole storm thing.", which, while accurate, is unnecessary, since when was the last time Sam was afraid of thunderstorms? But Dean still checked on him, because... Because reasons, dammit.

So maybe he's still a little bit (a lot bit, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Bobby corrects) overprotective. Sam insists whatever Cas had done fixed him up pretty thoroughly, but it's not like Dean ever stops worrying about Sam.

His first thought had been considerably less charitable: "Screw you, Sam, and your damn loud-ass weather alert app thing. I can damn well tell when it's storming without a piece of plastic shrieking in my ear at goddamn 2 in the morning."

But whatever. It's not like Dean wouldn't have woken up anyway. Old habits, et cetera. 

Well, he's up, and he isn't going back to sleep, memory foam or no. Might as well watch the light show.

Cas already stands in the doorway, hair and not-trenchcoat whipped by storm winds, backlit by great spears of lightning, unperturbed. Dean's breath catches in his throat. Definitely an angel.

"Cumulonimbus clouds remind me of my true form," Cas mutters Dean comes to stand beside him. The pitch of his voice is not much higher than the thunder, or else some freaky angel-harmonics are singing together with the storm or whatever. That's probably why Dean's stomach quivers and flops at the sound. Angel-harmonics. Yeah.

Dean swallows, shoving the butterflies down as deep as they'll go. Inconvenient reactions disposed of, Cas's statement finally registers. What do you say to that? 'Sorry about the loss of your entire identity as a being?'

The answer is not "Showoff," but Dean says it anyway, grinning. (If the grin's a little lopsided, well, Cas isn't looking at him.)

"If I were showing off, it would be immediately apparent and much more impressive. You shouldn't be out here, Dean. It's dangerous. A tornado is forming several miles away."

"You got mojo, right? I'll be fine. And telling me I might see a tornado ain't gonna get me back inside."

"I would think that spending so much time in the Midwest, you would've seen one by now."

"Well, yeah, but never pass up an opportunity. 'Sides, this time I don't have to worry about the digs blowing down."

"Or death by lightning strike."

"That too, I guess. Angel buddies are awesome." Dean grins and slings an arm around Cas' s shoulders briefly, trying to ignore a twist in his gut that's comparable in intensity to the twisting clouds above them.

They stand in companionable silence for a while, watching the sky boil over and tear in streaks of bright silver. Dean tried not to think of how much it resembles Hell, with lightning instead of chains. Cas looks to him, his expression soft.

"It is certainly useful to have friends who have fallen from high places."

"Cas, don't...." but he realizes the angel is grinning.

"Geez, man, was that a pun?"

"I'm humanish now. It's expected."

"Just don't let Sammy hear you. All my puns ever get are eyerolls and bitchfaces."

"I suspect that has more to do with the quality of your puns than Sam's disposition toward them." And the bastard is smirking!

"Geez, Cas. Harsh." But Dean can't complain- he recognizes that smirk. It's his smirk. If Cas is picking up Dean's mannerisms... well, if he's picked up humanity from Dean, Heaven help the poor bastard. Or... whatever.

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“You know we don't just keep you around for the halo, right? I mean... You're pretty cool for a nerd angel.” His words hang large in the stifling air, as small and qualified as Dean has tried to make them, and he suspects from Cas's tiny smile the angel knows what Dean means to say. 

Thunder cracks again, breaking the moment, and Dean shakes his head. "Hey, buddy, tell your family to pipe down."

"Is it commonly held that angels are responsible for thunder?"

"People tell kids that thunder is angels going bowling, yeah." Dean fondly remembers Sam once believing that, God knows where he got the notion. Dean had almost been sad when Sam came home one day babbling about electricity and air compression.

"I will never cease to be amazed at humanity's ability to find the oddest explanations for natural phenomena."

"So you never got to bowl while you were Upstairs, huh? Well, then, who needs Heaven anyway? " Dean's smile is too bright, too cheerful, especially in the lightning-spiked gloom. Cas exhales.

"It was my home, Dean. Heaven. All my brothers and sisters..."  
"But you have a home now, Cas. Right here, with Sam and me." The admission feels natural, like the angel has made his home with them for a long time now. 

"It wouldn't be the same in an empty Heaven, anyway." And for once it's Cas deflecting, and Dean's not going to push him, not when there's so little to be done. It's not like Dean can claim superiority here, either.

"Only that smarmy dick for company.... yeah, no thank you."

"Are you still unworried about dramatically timed lightning strikes?"

"...Yeah, I think so. Transformer Angel's got bigger nuisances to fry."

"Bigger nuisances than the Winchesters? Forgive me if I'm skeptical." Dean elbows Cas, who predictably and definitely intentionally fails to shift in the slightest.

“Thanks man. I can always count on you to take my side.”

“I sided with you against my own kin, Dean.”

“Dammit, Cas, that's wasn't...” And then Dean sees Cas's face. Smirking, the absolute dick. The thought breaks something inside of Dean, and his chest floods with warmth. He's corrupted an angel, Dean Winchester the high school dropout, and maybe it's not all a bad thing.

“Yes, Dean, it was a joke. Perhaps you ought to work on your sense of humor.”

“Dude, you gotta lose the deadpan or no one's ever gonna get your jokes.”

“How tragic. Tell me, Dean, what is that like?”

And the angel's face is so smug and so human and real and there, and the wind rushes around them and heaven's spears (he'll have to ask Cas about that one, too) cast light and shadows at their feet, so close together and hidden in the chaos and so *close together*...

"Hey, Cas... is that what I think it is?" He's suddenly stepping back and looking over Cas's shoulder and feeling the cold storm wind in the absence of the warmth of Cas's presence, and he realizes that this is what Cas has always done, standing between Dean and whatever the hell else (he'll hold them off, he'll hold them all off), and maybe he wants to do the same, and maybe that's basically the definition of love.

He is so screwed.

"If you think it's a funnel cloud, then yes."

"Sweet." 

"Heading this way."

"Right."

"And beginning to extend to the ground."

"Yeah."

And because Dean and Cas never did learn not to stand too close to the fire, they stay there another moment, transfixed by the vortex rapidly approaching across the plains. Very rapidly approaching.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy? " Dean's voice is sleepy, almost drunken, hypnotized. 

"We need to go."

"Yeah, Cas." 

"Now."

Dean's focus snaps into place, and Cas drags him into the bunker by the hand. And doesn't let go.


End file.
